Expecting the Doctor's Baby
by Adriana DiVolpe
Summary: Wilson has a habit of sleeping around. What happens when his habit gets him in trouble? Short one-shot crackfic; no pairings... Well, sort of one pairing at the end, but not really...


**Title**: Expecting the Doctor's Baby  
**Author:** Adriana DiVolpe  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Pairing**: none  
**Summary**: Wilson has a habit of sleeping around. What happens when his habit gets him in trouble?

**Warnings**: Swearing, Mild Sexual References

My friend LevinaIndigo, who I collaborated with for the ideas in this story, has made an awesome preview image for this story. The site won't let me post the link here, so please check out my profile for the link. It's pretty funny.

* * *

Wilson blinked. Why was his office full of women? Ordinarily, he wouldn't have minded; he would have just gone along with it and taken off his shirt.

Except these women all looked pretty pissed off. In his experience, sexy things didn't usually happen when women were pissed off. Just occasionally. But not usually.

He surveyed the room. Most of the faces looked vaguely familiar. A large majority he either knew to be or assumed were nurses. But some he couldn't place at all.

"Hello, ladies," Wilson ventured cautiously. "What can I do for you?"

One of the ones in the front crossed her arms. "Oh, you've already done enough, _Doctor_." There were murmurs of assent around the room.

Wilson looked from one face to the next in confusion. "I'm sorry… I don't understand what's going on here."

A woman sitting in the chair near his desk spoke up. "I'm pregnant."

He was confused. "Congratulations?"

A nurse he recognized, but couldn't quite put a name to, spoke next. "I'm pregnant too."

He stared at her, uncomprehendingly. "That's a different floor. This is Oncology. You should know that… You work here…"

The dark-haired woman in the chair rolled her eyes, standing to poke a finger into his chest emphatically. "_You_ got me pregnant."

Wilson gasped, his eyes widening. "What?"

"Remember four months ago, when we met at that bar on Fifth? We had a few drinks; one thing led to another, and we ended up back at your hotel room?"

He looked blank.

She rolled her eyes, and held up a hand, beginning to count on her fingers. "We did it three times in the bed, once on the floor, in the shower, in the chair by the TV; once I handcuffed you to the bed; and then the next morning we had scrambled eggs and coffee for breakfast?"

Realization crept across his face. "Oh yeah…"

She ran a hand through her hair calmly. A couple of the other women were staring at her enviously; a few looked impressed; a few more looked disgusted.

Wilson shook his head. "How the hell did you even track me down?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm good at what I do."

"…You have to do this a lot, then?"

"No, you asshole! I'm a detective!"

Wilson's eyes widened in panic. Crap. A cop? This was bad. How was he going to get out of this?

A fairly young, attractive blonde woman moved forward, hands cradling her stomach. She looked pretty far along. "You remember me, don't you, James?"

Fuck. What was her name? He knew he knew it._ All right, James, think. Calm down and think. It started with a 'J'. Joanna? Jackie? Julie? Not Julie, he would have remembered that. All right, think. Janice? Janet? Jenna? …Jennifer?_ Jennifer. He was pretty sure it was Jennifer.

"Of course I remember you, Jennifer." He held his breath.

The woman smiled broadly, her eyes lighting up. "I knew you wouldn't forget me."

Wilson scratched the side of his neck nervously. "I could never forget you, Jennifer."

The detective rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest.

Jennifer beamed at him, leaning in and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. She clumsily tried to wrap her arms around his shoulders in a hug, but didn't quite succeed. She was short, and her stomach got in the way.

He had no idea what to do. He was getting cold stares from all around. He patted her shoulders awkwardly, wondering how he'd gotten himself into this mess.

"Oh James," she sighed happily, "I can't wait until we get married."

_Fuck_. He was seriously fucked now. How the fuck was he going to get out of this?

"He's not going to marry you, honey," the dark-haired detective snorted at her.

Jennifer turned to look at her, wide-eyed. "Of course he will," she said insistently.

This prompted loud argument between all the remaining women.

Backing away from Jennifer, Wilson raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay… Okay, We're all grown-ups here… I'm sure we can work this out in an adult manner…" He bolted for the door, flinging it open and racing into the hallway as fast as his legs would take him.

* * *

House poked his head out of his office. What was all the shouting about?

Wilson skidded to a halt in front of him, looking around in a panic. "House, you have to hide me!"

"From what? Wilson, did you tell Cuddy her ass is fat again?" He looked at Wilson sternly.

"House!"

"Now Wilson, I _know_ it's huge, but you're not supposed to tell her that!"

"You tell her that all the time!" Wilson yelled. "And anyway, that's not the problem!"

The crowd of angry women rounded the corner in pursuit, looking up and down the hall.

"House!" he cried desperately, throwing himself behind House as he prayed they wouldn't see him.

"He's over there!" someone shouted, and the herd moved toward House. Wilson cringed silently.

The women in the front eyed House with distaste as they approached, two or three crossing their arms. A few of the more pregnant ones lagged behind the rest, clearly not able to run as fast as the others.

House raised an eyebrow, appraising the scene before him. "Ladies, ladies. I'm not as young as I used to be. I think I can only handle three of you at once. The rest will have to wait their turn."

"We're here for Wilson," a nurse said, jabbing a finger in the oncologist's direction.

Wilson let out a quiet whimpering noise.

House turned to look at him incredulously. "Wilson! You're an even bigger player than I thought! I'm impressed."

The nurse scowled. "We're _not_ here to have sex with him."

"Then what, pray tell," House inquired, "are you here for? I mean, if it's not Wilson, and it's not me…" He shrugged. "I'm flat out of ideas."

"I'm pregnant."

House turned to Wilson, giving him a congratulatory elbow in the ribs. "Nice job, Wilson!"

Another woman to House's left spoke. "Me too."

There were a couple more distinguishable 'me too's before individual words were drowned out in a cacophony of agreement.

House stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he burst out laughing.

"It's not funny, House!" Wilson yelled from behind him.

"James Evan Wilson, you come out here and face this like a man!" one of the women demanded, stomping her foot for effect.

House surveyed the crowd of women, whistling. "What do you think? Ten? Twenty?"

"I don't know! I didn't count! I was too busy running away!"

House continued. "So at best that's ten kids… Absolute worst is sixty."

"_Sixty_?! How do you figure?!"

"Well, at most there's twenty women, and at worst each has triplets." House grinned.

Wilson looked like he was about to pass out. His knees wobbled a bit and he clung to House for support.

House clapped him on the shoulder. "Good going. I think you now have more kids than anyone I've ever known. You sure you're not really a Mormon?" He eyed Wilson with suspicion. "I didn't think the Jews usually had this many kids."

Wilson looked over the crowd of women, his eyes hopeful, pleading. "They can't all be mine!"

This was received very coldly indeed. The glares he got could have frosted the sun.

House snorted. "They seem to think they are."

Wilson swallowed in fear.

A voice piped up from somewhere in the middle of the throng. "Mine _might_ not be yours."

Wilson seized this statement with gusto. "There we go!" He turned to House, relief beginning to spread over his face. "That's a start! Thank you!" he called to the woman who had spoken.

"Mine too," another voice admitted.

Wilson sighed, squeezing House's arm enthusiastically.

"Anyone else?" He looked from face to face, expectantly.

Insulted, murderous glares were his only answer. It was so quiet they could hear the steady 'beep' of a machine somewhere in the distance.

"Sorry, Champ." House started to laugh again.

Wilson's temporary expression of relief once again faded.

"How could you use us like that?" a woman to the left demanded of Wilson.

"I never used you! ...I don't think I even know you."

"Our night together meant that little to you?!" she bawled, covering her face with her hands.

A nurse beside her patted her on the back. "It's okay." She shot a disgusted glance at Wilson.

"I–I…" Wilson stammered helplessly.

A nurse near Wilson stepped forward, crossing her arms. "He used me, too."

Wilson turned in surprise. "What? That's not true…" He squinted at her name tag. "Rosanna."

"I was upset! My boyfriend had just broken up with me! I was devastated, emotional… You took advantage of my situation!"

Wilson gaped at her. "That's not what you said when you threw yourself at me!"

Another woman scoffed. "Oh, that is _just_ like a man. Blame everything on someone else."

The oncologist looked at her in disbelief. "But… You're all… That's exactly…" He looked at House, pleading for help. House just smirked at him.

Wilson ran his hand through his hair. "I mean… It's not _all_ my fault. That you're all pregnant, I mean…"

A couple of the women took a step forward and Wilson dove behind House, panicked.

When he saw that was as far as they were going to move, he tried to continue. "I mean… You were there with me… You had to know it could happen… And I didn't force anyone to do anything…"

This, evidently, was not what they wanted to hear. A dull angry roar broke out in the hallway, profanities jumping out here and there above the indecipherable babble.

The detective from earlier elbowed her way to the front of the mob, looking dangerous.

Wilson gulped. "You can't arrest me, can you? I didn't really do anything wrong… I mean… I got you all pregnant, yeah… But I mean, it's not my fault… It's your fault too…"

"Shut up, and look at me right here for one second." She gestured at her face with two fingers on one hand.

He closed his mouth, swallowing.

"You should stop talking."

He raised his arms helplessly. "I… I don't know what to do… It's… It's true…"

"I know it's true. It's all true. Okay? But you're doing it wrong."

"What… What should I…"

"Look. Women don't want to hear that something is all their fault. Especially not something like this." She gestured behind her with a hand, not taking her gaze off him. "They're all scared, okay? For some of them, this has probably ruined their lives. They don't want to be blamed. They want some goddamn reassurance."

"I…" He trailed off. He had no idea what to say. What do you say to that? Running a hand through his hair, he turned his gaze upward to the hospital ceiling.

"What do you want?" he asked her desperately. "I mean _you_, personally."

"I don't know. Acknowledgement? An apology? Something. Anything."

He studied the tiled floor a moment before looking back up at her. "I…" He shook his head, sighing. "I'm so sorry. I can't do this. I don't even know your name."

She blew out a sigh. "Okay, look. It's not the time for this right now." She jerked her head back in the direction of the packed hallway. "But I'm going to give you my phone number…" She reached inside her jacket, pulling out a notepad and scribbling on it. Ripping the sheet off, she slapped it into Wilson's hand, saying, "You call me later. I just want to talk, nothing funny."

He looked unsure. "I…"

She narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head. "I _just_ want to talk. Okay?" She swiped a piece of black hair from her eyes. "You'll call me if you're smart. Don't forget; I have a gun," she growled.

He swallowed hard. He nodded.

She grinned to show him she was kidding. Reaching out, she ruffled his hair. "You're kinda cute."

There erupted a jealous outburst from one of the women, triggering another loud squabble between the members of the crowd.

"Look, ladies, look," House interjected, "I'm sure we can sort this out somehow. I'm going to go get some paper." He hobbled away into his office. The dark-haired woman had given him an idea.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking from face to face.

Re-emerging with a few sheets of blank paper, House began ripping the sheets into smaller pieces.

"All right, everyone write their names and phone numbers on a piece of paper, and give them to Wilson. He'll call you later. He promises." House smirked at Wilson.

This seemed to satisfy the angry crowd of women; they looked at one another, considering, but after a moment nodded at House.

Wilson sighed, relieved. His problem wasn't solved, no, but at least it was temporarily postponed.

* * *

Sifting through the stack of phone numbers, House snorted at the amount of sheets with little hearts and notes like, "Call me, sexy!" written on them. A couple had death threats, offensive names, and the like. He shoved the stack into Wilson's hands. "Have fun, Wilson!" He winked.

"Thanks, House," Wilson found himself sighing. House had actually helped him out. That was new.

"No problem." He mussed up Wilson's hair, mimicking the action of the detective earlier. He grinned. "You're cute."

Wilson batted him away from his hair, trying not to smile. Smoothing out his hair with his free hand, he pondered his next course of action out loud. "So… Since I'm already out here, I'm going to go get some coffee… And I've still got a stack of paperwork to finish up…"

"Well _I_ have to go sit in my office and make it look like I do something around here besides making all the females swoon."

"Cuddy already knows you don't do anything around here."

"Nah, I've got her fooled. She's too busy swooning for me."

Wilson patted him on the shoulder, turning to leave. "Good luck with that."

* * *

Wilson leaned back in his chair, sighing. What a day. He was starting to wonder whether this was all just a terrible dream, and he'd wake up any second in his own bed.

There was a forceful knock on his door, and Cuddy pushed the door open. "Dr. Wilson," she greeted neutrally.

"Dr. Cuddy," he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. "You wouldn't believe the day I've had."

She closed the door, taking a few unhurried, pacing steps around the office before responding, "Oh, I heard about it."

Wilson raised his head. "You did?"

She turned to look at him pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

Wilson rubbed at the back of his neck, looking down at his desk. He was in for it now.

He waited a few moments, and when no verbal assault came, he dared to glance up at Cuddy.

She looked back at him, her expression strangely calm. She took several slow, deliberate steps toward him, stopping just before his desk.

Wilson couldn't take it anymore. He wished she would just get the yelling over with. "Am I in trouble?"

A sly smile twisted her lips. Leaning forward, she placed her hands on the wood surface of his desk.

He tugged at his collar, his tie seeming far too tight.

"Oh, you're in trouble, all right." Her voice was so low it was almost a growl.

Wilson swallowed hard. Death would be really nice right now.

Drawing back, she stepped easily around his desk to hover over a frightened Wilson, shrinking back from her in his chair. "But–I–I didn't mean to, I mean… It's not all my fault! They wanted to! They knew! Knew it was a possibility!"

She reached out, leaning her weight into the arms of his chair. Her face was less than a foot from his. "I'm hoping for more than a possibility." She ran her tongue slowly across her full bottom lip, eying the flustered oncologist through hooded lids.

He paused, looking blank. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. "…Are we… talking about the same thing, here?"

She seized his chin, leaning forward and capturing his lips roughly with her own.

"Mmph!" Wilson protested, eyes wide. He fought to move away for a few seconds. Soon he gave up and wrapped his arms around Cuddy's back as she climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

When she finally relented, Wilson was breathing heavily. "What was that for?" he gasped, bewildered.

Cuddy grinned. "I want you to help me."

He shook his head. He still had no idea what she was talking about. "With _what_?!"

Her sly grin widened, and she tugged at the knot of his tie.

Wilson leaned his head back against the cushion of his chair, sighing at the ceiling. He was so confused.

Flinging his tie to the floor, she seized his shirt impatiently, tearing it open and sending the buttons skittering across the floor.

"Holy crap, Cuddy! That shirt cost me like—"

"Shut up!" she growled, fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

"Are you _high_ or something? Cuddy?"

She dragged her palms up his thighs, causing him to squirm and choke back a yelp. "Nope," she grinned into his ear.

"Then what the hell is going on?"

"Shut _up_ and do me already," she pleaded desperately, fingers teasing the insides of his thighs.

He was barely able to focus enough to squeal, "Why?"

She rolled her eyes, clutching the collars of his shirt and dragging his mouth against her own, cutting off any further protest.

He considered for maybe half a second whether having sex with his boss was really a good idea. But then, he remembered: she'd started it, hadn't she? So he shrugged, and began pulling Cuddy's blouse out from the waistband of her skirt.

After all, he'd already managed to fuck up his life pretty badly; what was one more woman?

* * *

_the end_

* * *


End file.
